The following is a bit from my chapter on technology, which was published in Geez Magazine in their Winter 2010/2011 issue.
I imagine while plummeting, something like the aforementioned scene painted by Don DeLillo in his book White Noise would occur. Brutal honesty is a gut reflex in times of great trauma. The lavish faith we’ve placed in technology would disappear in an instant. At once, we’d come to despise it, cursing its decadent promises of happiness and control that coerced us so easily, that purchased our loyalty through creative advertising campaigns and carefully selected statistics. A touch of the arm. An offering of peanuts. In a moment like this, we’d inevitably turn back to our roots; back to pleading with invisible deities for salvation, just like our oldest ancestors did. We haven’t grown out of anything. We haven’t evolved, really. We’re the same selfish, clueless species, only with better clothes and fancier tools. In a hurtling husk of shiny, well–furnished steel, superstition rules the day. Always.
